


Your Choice

by NicoleTheHardyLover



Category: Tom Hardy - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-02 06:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11503869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleTheHardyLover/pseuds/NicoleTheHardyLover
Summary: After Tom Hardy very recently insisted we pick his suit for the Dunkirk world premiere in londons Leicester Square, this fan fic was imagined and requested.He gave us two options via VERY sexy images ... using what we the fandom deem sexy captions lol.To quote him: "right which suit for Dunkirk, I can't be shagged to choose, you choose and I'll wear it"Yeah I know *swoon*He later added a picture of his brass snake belt buckle in ode to his new signing VENOM. With the caption : "look at my snake"Yeah I know. *double swoon*So here we are .... help him choose already.





	1. You

_"You shouldn't be doing this .... you really should NOT be doing this."_

You repeat the mantra as you walk with intention, your pace as fast as the heart barely contained inside your chest. On your way to him where it would likely disintegrate. Like before.  
You pictured your nagging, disapproving conscience as an old librarian, complete with a beige cardigan and matching pleated skirt, pristinely pressed of course. Her hair had that lilac rinse that the interfering pensioners always had, the kind that demanded you give up your space for them on the bus. Well your conscience, like them also thought she knew everything, and her hair sat in a tight-ringed perm like the queen's, with an attitude to equally match that royal sense of entitlement.  
She sat on her throne of perfection as she wagged her finger at you and your ever-disastrous life choices. Like the time you got that pointless and juvenile cherry tattoo or the time you moved to London thinking it was the answer to all of life's problems.  
Well fuck the queen. And fuck the librarian because you were doing this ... you had to. How could you stay away after last time..... 

Your phone pinged again as you walked. Once. Twice.  
He was always relentless in his pursuits... like a dog with a bone, but you loved it, you loved his attention and he knew that, that's why he kept giving you it. 

Opening another image you turned the phone horizontally to try and grasp what it was on the screen.  
A metal snake? Like a brass snake belt buckle? What in the name of....  
The message read: 

**"look at my snake"**

Oh he was evil. 

*

_One hour previously._

You had been minding your own business, having a mid week preening session in preparation for the weekend and the office party you had to look exemplary for. If your ex wanker, sorry banker- boyfriend Christopher was going to show his face like last year with Mrs new-boobs-barbie-face, then you had to at least make some kind of effort to look half-decent in comparison.  
Your nail polish had still been wet and you had just applied a pore strip to your nose, having poured a second _or was it the third?_ glass of wine.  
Your phone going off was unusual these days since you weren't dating anybody and your friends all seemed to be busy doing just that. You frowned at it sitting in its charger port, seeing a message displayed. It was probably just your mother to be honest, wanting to give you yet another lecture about how you were massively failing at life, and bullet points on how you could actively improve it this week. Like by agreeing to go out with her neighbours grandson Matthew, the tall spectacled one who smiled eerily at you from his garden every time you went to visit your mum. Also known in my head as Matthew the bush pervert.  
Well sorry Matthew tonight you will not be seeing stars in your eyes because I'm going to be: declining. 

Anyway I digress, I digress in my mind whilst I argue with my royal librarian just as much as I digress in real life.  
Someone once said that I'm like them because they also have voices in their head, voices they have learned to contain. Someone else said that, someone I know. So it must be true.

The message sent to me was a photograph, well two to be precise.  
He was wearing suits, I think. I kind of lost the ability to process what I was actually seeing after I got hit with the sight of them, because he hadn't text me in over six weeks. And then this ...

[](https://postimg.org/image/9bk2zeu8r/)

**"Right, which suit for Dunkirk? ... I can't be shagged to choose, You choose and I'll wear it."**

[](https://postimg.org/image/579qnoofd/)

I free-falled for a little while... he had that effect on me. He had done even before I fell head over heels in love with him a little more every day of my employment.  
He gave me foggy brain syndrome that made everything seem like it was happening in slow motion, voices far away, the insistent sound of that rush of my own blood in my ears.  
I nearly dropped my third.... no second .. glass of wine when the text came through as I sat in my dressing gown, with hair in a top knot. But of course I don't drop wine, not like I drop everything for him every time he gets in contact like this. 

**Tom Hardy should not have been texting me.**

**Tom Hardy should leave me alone.**

Because last time... that's exactly what he did. It's exactly what he said he didn't want to do, what he knew I didn't want him to do, but what he still did anyway. 

And as I had stared at the messy haired photographs he had sent to my iPhone, One wearing a crisp open shirt, and one sat casually vaping in the very toilet room he had fucked me in _BEFORE_ , I knew I was about to let him do it all over again. 

Sorry Queen Librarian. I can't resist him.


	2. Tom

_"You shouldn't be doing this .... you really should NOT be doing this"_

You repeat the Mantra to yourself as you pace heavy footed around the hotel room. You still have the suit on, the second one. The one that probably looks like 1970's wallpaper pattern but since Nicole picked it out and the label says Gucci, the jobs a good en. Probably.  
If **SHE** picked the other one though you would go with her opinion. She used to be a stylist too. Your stylist. Before you ruined that by fucking her in every outfit she picked out for you. And getting caught. 

You scrunched your brows inwards at the memories, pulling your expression into that scowl that looked almost as theatrical as you intended it to be. You were still a mess over all that, still a massive mess over her too if you were honest with yourself, which you rarely were, rarely dared to be. No one would understand anyway, you weren't meant to talk about it now, it was swept under the carpet, along with the feelings that you weren't supposed to have. The ones that weren't going away. 

Six weeks had been the longest you hadn't been In any type of contact with her for as long as you could remember and it had been utter shit, completely and totally wank. You were bored, you were pining, you were restless with life and everybody in it. You just wanted to see her, to run your hands through her silky hair again as you tasted her sweet little lips. But no, people had advised you not to. People who knew what the fuck they were talking about. They knew, someone outside of the bubble you two had hidden yourselves in, knew. So they must be right. Regardless of this massive need to be with her that stopped you from wanting anyone else, including these days your own wife then you had to play it safe. You had to leave her alone. It was dangerous.  
If these people who knew better said it had to be forgotten, that you had to concentrate on work and the image you gave out, that you had to leave **HER** alone- then you left her. Which you had.

_What a massive cunt._

You shook your head and took out the vape again, voices around you. Always voices. Were they inside your own head or outside?  
Well Of course they were outside this time, at every table in this flashy hotel, discussing and controlling your every move for the following night.  
Shit you felt like a glass of the good stuff. 

Despite the shitstorm that had happened two months ago, work was good, the offers flooding in as always, and you had somehow managed to land the Sony venom deal you got approached about 18 months back. The restraint it took when it went public, not to dial her number and just hear her be proud of you again, almost cast a shadow on the whole fucking thing. But in the end you hadn't rung her, you weren't supposed to so you hadn't. Top marks and a slap on the back for that Tommy, you had thought. Except it felt less like an achievement and more like a bastard black hole. 

Ahead of Nolans latest venture, yet another public appearance was scheduled for the world premiere tomorrow. You didn't mind the Nolan ones, it was mainly low key, the focus on lots of others, interest in the motion picture, in the hierarchy of cinematic brilliance and definitely tomorrow in poxy pop star pricks. You laughed to yourself whilst stroking the newly trimmed hair on your chin. Harry styles and his curly Mophead were alright really, bless him. 

Your phone beeped and you couldn't help the lightening speed in which you grabbed it off the table and unlocked it. When you saw a reply sitting in your inbox, a reply from her, you raised your eye line to see if anyone noticed the obviousness you felt like you were dealing out to the whole room. Like an aura of fire red guilt glowing around your expensively dressed body. 

Natalie glanced back at you before looking back at the paperwork in front of her, and so did foxy who narrowed her eyes as you sat with your phone in your lap.  
Foxy didn't know though, it was only John, followed by his wife, and eventually your agent because John couldn't get you to stop.  
Of course he was always going to be the one to find you together, you three were inseparable back then and it was inevitable that he would probably use the toilet in your room one day to avoid press down on his own floor.  
It wasn't obvious that one day in particular you would be so desperate to be inside her that you hadn't cared to lock the door of the toilet you had ravenously pushed her into. He just _HAD_ to take a piss in it at _THAT_ moment didn't he?

Stop it Tommy. Put down the rug. What's under there has been swept there for a reason. Don't move the rug. Not even a tassle... fuck you needed her round little arse in your lap right now. 

_"Tommmm"_ John clasped both his hands on the back of your shoulders with a playful snap, making you jump and the phone fall into your lap, which is good because it hid the new evidence. 

_"Getting off, okay? Everything's done. Be here around 7am, or half past if you need the extra, message me. In fact mate probably need the extra half myself to be honest"_ he chuckled _"It's been a long arse day"_ he made to leave.

You stood up, glad that they were all fucking off finally.  
_"Good man"_ you said clasping his hands for a shake. _"Half past"_ you added with a wink as he nodded and waved to a few of the others. 

After kissing the remaining female team members, airs and graces, pleasantries, motions, you slammed the door and flipped it the bird. You hadn't even had chance to read her reply yet. She better not be asleep. 

Slouching into the sofa you tapped out your passcode and read her message. 

**"Birthday suit.... definitely. What time should I shag you to choose?"**

Oh shit. Goodbye rug.


	3. You

You had been here plenty of times before and knew the best way to go in. It was a side entrance, still held by a doorman but a lot more discreet than stepping off the main pavement in soho. You had been here with the team, and you had been here with him too. Just you and him actually, more than the once. You could still remember how the bedsheets smelt.

 _Three years previously_

When you first came to the Savoy you never had any intentions of getting caught up in him and his weird and wonderful life. Yes he was physically attractive and ever so mentally endearing from the moment you were asked to style him for his latest premiere, but not really your type and definitely and completely married, which was obviously a quality to avoid. A deal-breaker.

He had seemed awfully flirty from day one, in fact shockingly so, you remembered. That's at least to say he was newly married, but you quickly discovered after being hired by him and watching his interactions that he acted this way with pretty much every female on the planet and you had been half disappointed that you were nothing special.  
He was touchy feely, charming and a flatterer. To each and every one. 

But before long you couldn't ignore the way he looked at just you. It became so intense that you couldn't help but feel special, like that was his intention all along.  
In a room full of people, hell even sometimes when his wife was there, he looked at you like you were special to him.

If you wore a new necklace he would notice. He would be subtle and throw in compliments when no one was around, like the fact he liked said necklace as you filtered through suit jackets on a rack.  
Before long he would tell you how much he wanted to fuck you in nothing **but** that necklace and that's when things got dramatic. 

Tom didn't drink, he doesn't drink. He says it's because he can't stop and it takes him to harrowing places.  
You however do drink, and that night you drank far too much.  
Getting carried up to your room in his arms was probably a little inappropriate for an employer/employee relationship but no one really batted an eye lid that one night in Prague.  
He was out there shooting child 44, a motion picture about the Russian Cold War, government agents and spies. There was vodka and whisky and just a few too many cocktails at the wrap party and most of the cast, crew and teams were too wrapped up in the free bar and atmosphere to notice. Everyone was always on a high when a project finished. 

Tom had taken you to your room, brought you water and even held back your hair as you knelt on the tiled floor with your head down a toilet. _Classy._ That part still made you cringe. 

He told you he had calls to make and that you should get into bed and after passing out quickly you woke in the middle of the night to find him asleep at the foot of the bed.  
What started with you covering him with the comforter led to him somehow ripping your dress from your body, his jeans from his own, and growling your name into your ear as he sunk his cock into you.  
The in-betweens were hazy, as were the months that had followed. 

At every given opportunity your naked bodies had been entwined for passionate, unadulterated and raw fucking.  
The guilt either of you felt was ignored only to be replaced by a suffocating and downright intoxicating addiction to each other.  
You were careless, often having barely fifteen minutes to sneak off and fuck, the near misses and the sex under pressure had been like vascular adrenaline.  
By the time you were caught you were head over heels in love. **Making Love**

But when he had to make a choice he had picked her. He had picked them and what they advised. He hadn't picked you.  
How ironic that he was now giving you a choice after prising one from your begging, bleeding clutches before. 

**You Choose** he had text. 

Well it was just the same now as back then, and he knew that it would be. You choose him. And this. And the two of you, and this time he didn't have to make the fucking choice because you were making it for him. 

_Now._

You knocked on the door loudly.  
He opened it instantly. 

**Fuck.** The sight of him made your mouth water. 

_"Baby"_ he breathed heavily looking down your body .... _"Maybe I can be shagged to choose"_ he whispered, moving aside to let you in.


	4. Tom

You opened the door to let her walk past you into the room and your heart was going like the clappers.  
She looked amazing. She always looked amazing but right now she looked extra fucking amazing. The kind of amazing that if you could bottle it, it would make you a millionaire.  
Well you were already one of those, and it hadn't taken a rocket scientist to realise none of that even mattered if you weren't laying next to the woman of your dreams every night.  
It had become obvious during the affair that you were well suited. She could make you laugh on continuous loop and you had told her she'd missed her calling dressing celebrities up for events. She **was** the event, when she was in the room everyone gravitated towards her, she had the kind of beautiful face that stopped traffic but the kind of humbleness that wouldn't allow her to realise so.  
She was daft as well. Like you. Playful, not afraid to make a fool of herself and often downright outrageous.  
You often thought about the time she held your hand under the table at a restaurant, which would have been fine if you weren't surrounded by the team on an event dinner. It might have been fine still, except it wasn't long until her hand had travelled up your thigh teasingly slow and rested on your hardening dick. You'd flushed bright pink like a little school girl. 

_Downright outrageous._

You had loved every second you got a chance to be with her which was quite often considering you had a gruelling schedule and family life, but her employment made it possible for her to travel with you with you and the group, most of the time sans spouse.  
Long nights in hotels, afternoons in set trailers, mornings on long distance drives.  
You had loved her, you were sure of it. When you left her it confirmed it for both of you. That ache was fucking torturous and you still had it now having to spend days and nights without her for over six entire fucking weeks.  
And now she was back. Right in front of you.

 _"Baby"_ you said again, struggling to articulate anything more in this moment. That sundress should be illegal, you could see every curve.

 _"I love it"_ she said in reply looking you up and down, biting her bottom lips nervously. She always did that when she was nervous. She also did it when she was turned on, which means even if she still hated you, her body was betraying her. 

_"It's ... je ne sais quoi...but you need a tie clip... maybe two to set it off. And less product in your hair babe you look like Peter fucking Andre"_

You chuckled at the relevance. _My mysterious girl. I wanna get close to her. I want her to move her body close to mine._

Then you laughed at her instant stylist advice and forever existing sense of humour as you gestured her over to the expansive suede sofa that sat before a wide screen TV, wall mounted and displaying late night match of the day. 

_"You hate football"_ she said looking at it with a screwed up face as she said it. So cute.

I do. She's right I hate football. I like ballet, and I like theatre and I wear pink shirts sometimes too.  
But I also like MMA fighting, tattoos and flying authentic British spitfires so who's to say anyone has to like any certain type of thing. But she's right. I hate football. And I hate that she's not in my arms right now. 

_"Background noise babe... so you don't like the tartan one?"_ I asked her.

 _"Did you actually ask me over here to choose a suit?"_ she said, sitting gingerly on the edge of the sofa and crossing her legs like she wasn't accustomed to this type of hotel room.  
Like she hadn't writhed naked beneath you on similar sofas before. 

When you didn't answer, when you couldn't answer she continued.

_"I'm not your stylist anymore Tom. I'm not even a stylist at all anymore, remember?"_

_"But it's in your blood"_ you said, sitting down at the side of her, with a good amount of unnecessary space between you. She still hated you. She hadn't jumped on you like you hoped, like she used to.

 _"No but you are"_ she said so quietly you barely heard her.

Impulse. It's a strange fucking thing, but it's real. You could say it was impulse that made you do the craziest most mental things and then you could blame it on that later when you realised it wasn't the most sensible thing to do in the world.  
It was impulse that had you closing the space between you instantly and grabbing at the back of her head to pull it closer to you.  
When you touched your lips on hers it was ravenous, and she complied naturally, effortlessly, her mouth opening to allow your tongue inside it. She groaned into the kiss loudly and it made you forget everything else on the planet except her and this feeling. _This fucking feeling, it was everything..._  
Your blood felt on fire... she was in your blood too, everywhere .. all over your entire body, snapping synapses, an electrical current of desire exploding inside your veins, in your chest, crushing you, creating impulses .... an impulse to push her down onto her back on the sofa and tug at the tie on her little sun dress. 

It was primal instinct and impulse that had your hands roaming up the outside length of her thighs, bunching the dress up to her hips to reveal her little lace panties underneath, a white fucking G-string, anything but virginal, anything **but** pure. 

_"Tommy... baby .. stop"_ she said breathlessly moving up the sofa. You carried on covering her entire face, neck and jaw with kisses, your beard scratching at her, your tongue soaking her skin, your hot breath all over her as she panted. Fuck she made your dick so hard. 

_"Tom stop"_ she said more firmly, and you dragged yourself away in compliance ... missing the feel of her the moment you did. You had to have her, why on earth did she want to stop this. You looked at her like a lost puppy and sat back, her lips were bitten and red, and slick with your saliva and the straps of her sundress were dishevelled, down her shoulders, exposing her lacy bra.

You weren't letting her go again.

_"You need to take that fucking dress off now"_ you ordered as she bit her lip hard.

**Nah, you weren't letting her go again.**


	5. You

_"You need to take that fucking dress off now"_ he said to you, his face full to the brim with the arousal that felt familiar to you on so many levels, like it was a catalyst to your own arousal, like we were the push and the pull of a force greater than we could ever imagine, balancing each other out. If he tugged you one way, you followed, you didn't resist. And if you pushed him the other, he let you, no resisting, until resisting had been our only choice. 

He was always like this, he had always _been_ like this. You could never say no to him, and he knew that, he knew the hold you had over each other and how every time he asked you to do anything at all you would do it. **Even leave him**. Which you had ... whilst clinging to the hope that he wouldn't let you. Which he had.

He could've left her. He could've left her for you if he truly loved you, you do know that, you're not a fool. The raw rejection you had felt when he picked her still stung at the membranes of your eyes, reminding you that it did in fact happen, and they fired you, and he just let them do it. Let you go.

We didn't even get a proper goodbye. 

All hell broke loose when John found us going at it against the bathroom wall but it wasn't enough to even begin to smother our desires and eventually we just found ways to be more careful, even though he watched us like a hawk. 

When he went to Lindy it was truly over.  
Tom's agent was **NOT** a woman to be trifled with and with his career and acting livelihood on the line, she dragged him back over onto her side of that line. She made him draw a new line in the sand, she made him think I would ruin his acheivments, dent his opportunities and tarnish his reputation. Which I probably would have. Scandal sells in Hollywood but Tom wasnt Hollywood and he had built his career on respect and admiration and that's what sold him. He had worked his entire life trying to turn his past around, for his accomplishments and his future to overshadow what he had done wrong before.

Lindy had been right. It had to end before people knew, and you don't hate him for that part you really don't, in fact if he hadn't been the one to do it then you might've had to at least try to do it for him. However in the end he did it. And he did it coldly. And that's why you felt like you had hated him. And that's why you told him you definitely did.

He offered to pay you out.  
He wanted you to leave him alone quietly, he wanted you to live in an apartment paid for with his pity. Like bullshit bribery. _Don't tell a soul about us_ (and I'll buy you a penthouse.)  
Like it could be any kind of substitute for his love. 

You told him he could stick it where the sun don't fucking shine and that was it. 

Gone. Apart. _Bereft._

He had text you afterwards with feeble attempts at apologies for how it ended, explanations.. excuses. You stopped reading them after a week because you knew it was over, tarnished and broken, like your whole life felt now. You went back to your old job in publishing, you moved, you changed your hair, but you kept your number. You kept the channel open, and all it took was six weeks of pain and here you were again, back in his arms. 

Now you can't hate him anymore, not now when you're breathing the same air again and feeling his weight on top of you like you used to.  
You've told him to stop. But you don't want him to, you don't want him to ever stop. But he needs to know how much he's hurt you, how every minute without him has been bone shuddering agony and you can't live like this anymore. You need him back. You need him to need **you** back. 

_"I'm not letting you go .... you know how good we were"_ he says to you as strokes the side of your face with a rough finger. He has nail polish on you notice, chipped and dark green and you don't even ask why or what, you just hold your hand over his own as it travels down your neck, applying pressure to your chest to push you back down into the soft suede of the sofa.  
This time you let him slowly pull up your yellow sun dress, and you help him take you out of it, lifting your arms and adjusting your position so it can be removed swiftly and flung across the room.  
**Knickers next.** They are off in a heartbeat and before you can register anything but arousal his head is there ... between the legs he just forcefully parted.  
He acts like a starved man, he's licking and lapping at you, rubbing his nose against your soft pink flesh, and using his lips to caress the ones you have there.  
He's so good at this... _So Good_ ...

You're trying not to think of anything but the way his tongue is a force field of swirling wet suction on your most sensitive area, but he's already pulling a delicious tickle of sensation from what feels like, deep in your womb. He's going to make you cum so fast. Like he did before he left you.

 _Oh What does it matter anyway?_ ...you think, as breathy moans start to involuntarily escape your throat.  
He did what he had to do. They are off your tail. And now he wants you back. You have to believe this even though he hasn't said it ... he said he can't let you go again, but you never even let him go in the first place. 

He works you until he drags the orgasm from your body with the tip of his tongue and the push of a finger into you when you're at your most sensitive. The sound of moisture is apparent even over the low rumble of football commentary coupled with your groans as you pulse and come undone into his mouth. His beard is longer than before and it's pricklier as it tickles your most intimate area ... it's fucking divine. As your spasms die down, he kisses you gently like he would on the mouth for good measure before sitting up and looking down on you with a look that would rival the explosion of a nuclear bomb. 

_"You gonna tell me no?"_ He says, loosening his tie as his eyes search yours for an answer. There's no lost puppy anymore, he looks dangerous. Like he's daring you to even contemplate it. Are you gonna tell him no? 

**Am I Fuck...**

_"Maybe"_ you lie. 

He's unbuttoning the Gucci waistcoat now, its off and on the floor and he's started on his shirt. You notice it has scattered little pictures of rabbits with magicians hats allover it. Quirky, definitely him. 

You want to help him, you want to rip every piece of clothing off his frame like you used to and devour every inch of inked skin you could find. But you darent move ... he's sat on your bare legs with his own after removing his pants ... getting rid of his boxers... a discarded pile of garments on the carpet. He's pinning you there and he's taking off your bra as he stares at you. He looks mad and intense and focused and aroused and all the things you are ready to match him with. 

_You both fucking need this_

With him now naked he reaches down to the floor and retrieves his tie. It's burgundy with vertical black stripes and he's wrapping it around his hands. Oh you know what he's doing, he's done this before. 

_"You're not telling me no... I'm fucking having you ok?"..._ he said as he pushes the material into your mouth, wrapping the ends behind your head, pulling it tight, gagging you with his Gucci fucking tie. 

**You nodded**

When he was satisfied with the restraint and your ability to still breathe he took his arousal in his hands and started to stroke himself, his dishevelled hair floppy, chocolate brown and wayward, moving as he moves.

He is'nt wearing a wedding ring, you notice as you watch him pleasure himself, his fist slowly squeezing his staff, small beads of cloudy liquid escaping his tip, as he lubricates himself with it and lets out a groan you were sure he had suppressed for weeks, knelt back on his knees on your legs. His weight was starting to hurt you and you gasped but the sound was muffled by the tie. 

He used to wear a wedding ring. He used to fuck you in it, he used to finger you in it, run his hands through your hair in it. He didn't have it on now though. It was absent, like any care in the world you had when you weren't with him like this. 

After torturous, lingering moments of watching him wank himself at the sight of you naked and gagged beneath him, he took a hold of your hands, lowered his body between your legs and wrapped your arms around his thick neck. He was hot to the touch and his forehead had taken on a glistening sheen, his hair starting to stick to the skin there.

He began to rub the slick and engorged head of his penis against your sex over and over, his groans audible, your gasps incoherent. 

_"I fucking love you.... baby I'm so sorry"_ he whispers as he bore down his whole weight and pushed the head of his penis into your body. The feeling was electricity. White noise ....

 **A loud noise**

Someone was at the door.


	6. Tom

You couldn't stop yourself if the whole world was watching you right now. She tasted sweet, warm and just how you remembered. She had a habit of gyrating her whole pelvis in slow circles when you went down on her and you had a habit of clasping your big hands around her tiny little hips like you were clinging on for dear life, trying to still her like you were now.  
Her hip bones jutted out a little more than normal, she had lost weight it seemed, more than likely from the stress of you ending things, because that had happened to you as well but you deserved it. You had thrown yourself into being personally trained in the gym and kickboxing sessions for four hours a day, everyday. The anguish had pushed you to work harder, but you were still losing weight, muscle mass and the will to live because she wasn't around.

Already now though, you felt alive with her here, like she'd fixed the broken man, her lithe body writhing beneath you once more. Her skin was so soft, and it smelt like vanilla, though her nature was anything but. She was an uninhibited breath of fresh air and you couldn't believe in this moment that you had let her go. 

_Why the fuck did you do that mate?_

You had asked yourself the same question day after day since you had and never been able to come up with a justifiable answer. Because you were scared? Because you didn't want people to hate you? Why were the reasons all about you. 

Well it was simple, Because you? You had the world on a string, yeah? ..but you couldn't hold it together so you fucked it up.

 _"Tom .. I'm going to ... "_ she moaned, putting her hands on your shoulders on the suit jacket, stifling your self deprecating thoughts and bringing them back to her.  
You growled into her, the sound muffled by her flesh and you realised that your mouth felt made for her body, it was watering and this felt like such a treat after being starved of it, like eating a fucking pizza after being on a fat-free diet for six weeks, which you had been. And yes you just compared her pussy to pizza, but you loved pizza, you could eat like four in one go.  
Good one Tom. Keep licking. Stop thinking. 

You laughed at yourself into her little kitten which was quivering now, you could feel it on your tongue, and you could feel her back arch and her whole body tense up, her toes curling against your sides in the midst of her orgasm.  
You slipped your middle finger where your tongue had reached its goal, and finished her that way, watching her go pink and glisten with a light sheen of sweat beneath you. Her perky little tits looked amazing. You thought you might cum in your boxers if you watched her any longer so when she slowed and relaxed, you stripped off your suit before you made a mess in it. 

She did choose your birthday suit after all. Guess she wanted a gift. 

_"You're not telling me no... I'm fucking having you ok?"_ ..You groaned at her, using your new fancy tie to stuff her mouth and hear her moans trying to escape from it while you tightened it up. **Fuck.** You weren't going to last and you knew it, but you had to have her now. 

She watched as you slowly ran your grip over your piece, long strokes from root to tip, squeezing and pulling It like you had done every lonely night since you were last with her. Imagining her lips right around the plump end of it, her saliva dripping down to your balls like it used to. _"Baby..."_ you groaned at her, as she licked her lips and watched you. This was so intense, like it always had been, hopefully like it always would be. You definitely weren't going to last here. 

Lowering down you watched her eyes, removed the tie and kissed her softly keeping them open and on her, taking the blunt end of your cock and rubbing it across the span of her wetted sex. She was so fucking wet, that had always amazed you, how easily she became aroused for you. How she would coat your fingers in her juices every time you put your hands on her and It Fucking turned you on man, you had missed her and this feeling so much. 

_"I fucking love you.... baby I'm sorry"_ you whispered into her ear as you put your weight onto her, pressing downwards where your sexes now met.  
Your cock pushed past her folds and into her body, your generous sized balls tightening and burning with tickles of absolute pleasure. Snapping your hips to take yourself to root inside her, you heard her gasp and dig her false fingernails into the skin at the back of your neck, before dragging them across your scalp at the base.  
You honestly thought that you might win some kind of record here for fastest one-pump wonder. 

Speaking of pump. 

**PUMP.PUMP.PUMP**

Someone was at the bastard door. 

**Oh Shit.**

Your mind raced with the possibilities of who it could be at the other side of the polished wood.  
Charlotte first... followed by John.. the team, or security. Someone who would likely castrate you for your sins on the spot but then all you could think about was her. 

She looked terrified beneath you and a flash of the pain she went through last time congealed like a rock in your fucking throat. You couldn't swallow.  
She was more important than you and your actions now, Who gave a shit who it was? They weren't coming in you were busy. _Busy being unfaithful_ Busy putting things right.

 _"Shhh.. I won't get that"_ you said quietly. She put her hand on your chest as though to push you away but you bucked your hips into her, the pressure searing through your throbbing cock and hitting her softness. She gasped .. and groaned, her eyes flickering shut at the sensation, and then pushed you away harder.

 _"What if they come in? What if it's ....."_

There was another bang and then your name was called. 

You groaned and pulled yourself out of her body, your erection now wasted and limp. She scrambled for her dress and you donned your discarded boxers, scanning the room for clues of her as you shouted that you were coming. You fucking nearly had been...  
_Good Timing yet again John_

You bunched up the two thousand pound suit and hit it under the copious amounts of hotel cushions, turning off the tv in the process, as she found her sandals and slipped them back on. 

_"Go get in my bed"_ you said to her, it was a demand and she usually followed them. 

_"No.. I shouldn't ... I can't. Tom I shouldn't be here ... it was a moment of weakness. I can't be here .. just send him away so I can leave. This is too risky now and I hate it. I hate all of this."_ she whispered. 

Your heart bottomed out with disappointment but she was too fucking precious if she thought it would be that easy to try and leave. 

_"Do as you're fucking told woman... Trust me on this... You aren't going to have to hide much longer. Now go get in my fucking bed and take that dress back off, yeah?"_ you winked at her. 

She paused for a minute and you held your bated and expectant breath before she finally smiled and turned away, you heard her close the door behind her and you went to open the main one. You rubbed your eyes at the man bequeathed with dealing with your shit, under the proviso of personal security. Job Description: babysitter. Affair ruiner. Ejaculation stopper. Friend. 

_"What mate? Are you kidding me here, I'm trying to get some sleep before press and you're like a hole in the head."_ you laughed, letting him in, nonchalantly trying to appear your chirpy self. Good job you had a few acting skills. 

_"Really fucking sorry Tommy"_.. he said scanning the room and appearing unaffected. **You hope she moved her knickers.**

 _"There's a change of plan for the morning, Nolan wants you at junkets before carpet and it means we need to go earlier to get everything done, so 5am start mate."_ He instructed apologetically. 

You nodded with a scowl.  
_"Right. Ok well now I need my beauty sleep even more don't I? ...Shit .. ok i guess i will see you at five"_ you said trying to leave it short and sweet to get back to her.

 _"Can I use your loo?"_ He asked. 

**was he trying to be funny?**

Did he know? .. You narrowed your eyes before gesturing for him to do as he pleased, your heart hammering in your chest. _Hope she didn't go in there, hope she didn't go in there._

He returned after a moment with a grin and a wink and bid you goodnight. If Suffocation was a person, for fucksake he was it.

You locked the door, turned the lights out to the lounge and padded through on bare feet with messy hair to the bedroom, opening the door and dimming the lights but leaving them on.  
She was on the bed with her knees to her chest, biting her bottom lip furiously, nervous this time, not turned on... **not yet.**

As you walked to her and smiled, she visibly relaxed and lowered her legs. She had been crying you could tell. 

_"Well Baby .. I've made my choice"_ you said matter of factly, laying her down, pulling the cover over her and getting in beside. 

_"Gucci?"_ She asked. _"I did like the tie, well in my mouth anyway"_ she chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. 

_"No not that choice babe...Fuck the suit."_ You said. **Fuck everyone.....**

_"My choice is you. I'm leaving her."_


End file.
